


One Day We'll Get Nostalgic for Disaster

by Prix



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Break Up, Canon Gay Character, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, Novelization, Pre-Canon, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/pseuds/Prix
Summary: Three bullets. The end of a marriage. The end of a fling or two.While history is simmering, ready to boil over, people continue to be just... people, even in the Mojave Wasteland.This is the story of a lot of people and the choices they make, but really it's a story about four people and how the choices they make change one another forever.[Main cast: Female Courier Six - Ember Santiago, Arcade Gannon, Benny Gecko, and Craig Boone.]
Relationships: Arcade Gannon/Original Male Character(s) (non-endgame), Benny/Emily Ortal (non-endgame)
Kudos: 5





	1. Saturday, January 22, 2281. 2:08 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> **A fairly personal Author's Note:** I began work on this fic in early 2020, not long before the COVID-19 pandemic began to have an appreciable effect upon my life. It was supposed to be the project that I would finish completely before I began posting. I thought it would be fairly low-pressure to do so since this is a fairly small fandom, fic-wise, and it would be a good proving ground. However, this year has not gone the way anyone wanted it to, and I have been facing a family member struggling with a likely-terminal illness on top of what everyone else is dealing with. I have no idea if I will have the opportunity to see this fic through the way I wanted to. Upon revisiting it, though, I decided that I like what I have, and I want to share it with someone, whether it ever materializes into what I had hoped it would be or not. 
> 
> Any support you can give me, through comments and kudos or anything else, will certainly provide me much-needed cheer, and it may give me the boost I need to keep working and finish it. At the time I am publishing, I have 10,000~ words written, and I'm only posting two of the four chapters I have. That way, I hope that I will be motivated to write and keep extending my buffer of content. I would love it if this was the first fic I was eventually able to at least get a consistent update schedule with, but that depends on a lot of things. I don't want to make promises I can't see through. 
> 
> This fic has already had a lot of love and care put into it, so I hope you will enjoy what I have and leave me your thoughts. 
> 
> [My Carrd.](https://prixsilentx.carrd.co/)
> 
> See the end notes of the first chapter for what this work hopes to contain but which I would like to avoid tagging in a misleading fashion.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> 

It is the coldest night in January. Of course it is. That makes it all the more cliché.

Arcade stares at the ceiling with one wrist resting beneath his head. It’s warm in bed, helped by the presence of the man next to him. He doesn’t look over at him. Judging by the steady, deep rhythm of his breathing, he’s probably fast asleep anyway. The darkness is another good excuse.

Instead, Arcade thinks of what he will say if he disturbs him as he gets up to leave.

Is it kinder to lie? To give some excuse so transparent it would border on insulting?

Or would it be kinder to tell the truth?

 _‘I’m sorry, Emmanuel, but this isn’t going to work. Your lyrics are the most poetic words I’ve heard in Freeside, but we hardly know a thing about each other. And I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you. So it’s better if we leave it at this.’_

Arcade feels a metaphorical weight settle over his chest. At the same time, he feels the tip of Emmanuel’s nose brush against the bare skin of his shoulder. The warmth in his breath just makes him shiver instead of adding to the sense of being sheltered from the night. Suddenly, he wants to be back at the Old Mormon Fort as quickly as possible, back to a tent and layers of clothing and blankets. Braving the elements is easier than braving the disappointment of yet another awkward goodbye.

He moves carefully, keeping steady as he sits up and swings his legs down over the edge of the bed.

 _‘Our flirtation and… courtship… has been delightful, but here we are, and I can’t say it. I know I’ll see you around, and I won’t know what to say.’_

He’s careful not to stub his toes against Emmanuel’s guitar case – priceless as far as he is concerned – as he searches for the rest of his clothes.

 _‘I hope you keep writing your music. It’s almost a lost art.’_

One thing he doesn’t like is that there is a second bed in the room. He knows that, west of Hoover Dam at least, most people are too concerned with staying alive to have anything to say about another person’s choice of intimate company. He isn’t sure what ‘the King’ would have to say about it, though.

 _‘One day you may sing on a stage for an audience worthy of your craft. But I’m no suitable patron for that. I have to get back to my work. The wasteland needs music, but it also needs medicine, and between the two of us, you’ve got quite the head start.’_

Arcade pulls on his white coat and squints at the mirror that hangs on the wall just behind the door. It has a long, jagged crack that runs along near its frame. There are a lot of mirrors in the “school,” and for the moment he’s grateful. He can barely see through the blue-gray, hazy dark, even after putting his glasses back on.

He reaches out and carefully operates the door handle so as to make as little noise as possible. He looks back over his shoulder, more concerned about being heard within than without. While he opens the door a bit further, some light comes in from the hall which startles him for an instant. It shines right onto the bed and Emmanuel’s face.

Emmanuel doesn’t wake, though.

His coiffed hair has held up pretty well under the circumstances. The thought makes Arcade’s lips quirk into something that is almost a sad smile.

“Good night, Emmanuel,” he says softly before stepping out into the hall and quietly closing the door behind him.

He takes less care when he reaches the stairs. He walks toward the door as though he has just concluded a house call and nothing at all is unusual about his presence. It’s almost the truth.

Outside, he grits his teeth to prevent the cold night air from making them chatter. He trudges back down toward the Fort. About a block out, he turns back to watch The King’s School of Impersonation’s purple and blue neon sign glow and flash. It seems appropriately ‘cool.’

“Impersonation,” he says to himself, as if chiding. He turns his back and hunkers down a bit as he walks on against the wind that manages to breach Freeside’s walls.

Im-‘ _person_ ’-ation has nothing to do with being a real person. He wonders if they know that – the rest of the Kings. He thinks that Emmanuel is mistaken about the definition of the word, but he hasn’t had the heart to tell him about the difference in _‘impersonation’_ and _‘self-actualization.’_ As much diversion as the past several weeks of closer acquaintance have provided, the waters have never run quite that deep. And because he’s walking away now, Arcade is secure in the fact that they never will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend SpoonyViking for looking over Chapter 1 for me many moons ago. 
> 
> Should I continue this fic the way I hope to, here are some exciting things it may contain! 
> 
> Enemies to Lovers _and_ Friends to Lovers! 
> 
> A mostly canon-compliant fic with lots of character development. 
> 
> Angst! Friendship. Action and Adventure. 
> 
> Comeuppance and a redemption story that involves actual atonement and surviving one's last minute saving throw.
> 
> The first four chapters are basically the prologue, and I know where it's going if time and will prevail.


	2. Friday, April 15, 2281. 11:29 P.M.

Benny eyes his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. The center of the mirror is perfect, free from tarnish, and the little bit of steam that lingers around its edges covers up the hairline cracks that snake inward from its frame. He makes another swipe with the towel along his jaw. He rinses the straight razor he used and folds it up. He carefully puts it back into place, out of sight from his guest. He knows that in a game with stakes this high, anyone is bound to get some funny ideas if the odds don’t seem to be falling in their favor.

He drapes the almost-white towel over the edge of the old tub that shows its rust and tarnish in glaring comparison. The Tops isn’t perfect, but it’s a gem preserved from the old world – one of luxury, convenience, and safety he’s here-to-now only started to dream about. And who knows what’ll come when he has his ace-in-the-hole?

Benny smiles to himself as he tugs on his slacks. He shrugs the white shirt up to his shoulders and tugs it into place. He watches with satisfaction as the white-on-white of his undershirt and the crisp button-up makes him look sharp. The scars of the wasteland – of hunger and spending every day trying to stay alive – disappear under the cool, clean fabric that rests flat against his hips.

In a practiced movement, he tucks the shirts in, buttons and zips, and fastens his belt, all in a way that makes him feel far better than strapping on any armor out in the desert ever had. He does it with just as much purpose, though. No, _more_. Every job has a uniform, and this is the most important job ever.

Next comes the tie, which might be his favorite part. It took some learning, but learning he was glad to do it. Now he could slide that baby into place in his sleep. Not that he’d want to miss it. The feel of silk is tenderer than the touch of any woman in the whole world. It ignores the calluses on his thumb and forefinger – everywhere he’s ever been and everywhere he’ll ever go to keep this life, this _place_ and the life that comes with it. That tie whispers, _Baby, you belong here with me,_ without uttering a word.

He clips her into place against his shirt. He’s got to keep that feeling close to his heart, after all.

Then comes the _pièce de résistance_. No matter how much he loves his tie, the sport coat _makes it_. Every one of the Chairmen wears a tie; it’s obligatory. But when Mr. House sent over the cases of supplies to get them on their feet, when he saw _this_ , he knew it was his. It was the flashiest, and it could put your eye out if you stared at it too long under the harsh glare of electric light, but that meant it made a _statement_.

It tells everyone who he is. Everyone on the Strip knows him at a hundred paces. Hell, anyone who knows their own name in Freeside knows ‘Benny,’ too. In short, the coat has _pizazz._. 

It’s also handy for carrying other things that he needs to keep close to his chest. He feels the safety before putting Maria right where she belongs, silent as the desert night.

Just outside the bathroom door, Benny steps into his shoes. He crouches down to tie their laces. To his left, he can hear movement and a soft hum.

He’s almost gotten used to her being around. Especially after tonight, he wonders if she’ll finish anytime soon. He doesn’t want this to stop being _nice_ and wear out its welcome.

He hisses softly as he stands up straight. If there’s one part of his ‘uniform’ he doesn’t like, it’s the shoes. Sometimes he misses supple boots that formed to his feet, that knew the distance between him and the ground without compromise. He’ll never breathe a word of it, though. He’s willing to make sacrifices if it means the best outcome for him and his people.

“Hey, Emi-Gal,” he says magnanimously. He strolls up behind her in the relative gloom of the workshop. He places his hand on her shoulder while she is busy looking at a terminal that’s all wired up to the dead Securitron that looms over them both. He doesn’t let on when he crinkles his nose at the smell in the room. It reminds him of raw fish or piss, but she tells him it comes from damaged electrical equipment, and he’s given her the best he’s got to work with. He can live with it. “How’s it swinging?”

As he leans in, he sees the smile his words bring to her face. He squeezes her shoulder, encouraging that smile to be followed by good news. 

“I think I’ve figured out…” Emily says, trailing off as she punches a few more buttons on the terminal with a glare of concentration that intensifies the green glow that reflects on her glasses, “a way around our security problem.” She looks up at him with a much more triumphant smile after she presses enter and the terminal proceeds to do some things on its own, apparently liking her fingers even more than Benny had a couple of hours ago.

Benny takes a step back and watches her blue eyes through her glasses.

“Do tell,” he encourages her with a half-grin of his own.

“Well, there’s… a lot of technical stuff you might find boring,” she says.

How sweet it is of her to be concerned. And she’s right. And if not bored, Benny is fairly confident he wouldn’t understand it.

“Yeah, but…” he says, a little teasing but drawing it out of her, bit by bit. She’s always been a little shy, but there’s no room for shyness left between them now, he figures.

“I think the way to get around Mr. House’s security protocols that might fry our friend even more than he already has been might be to not get around them at all,” she says.

Benny blinks. Then he narrows his eyes at her, a little suspicious.

“You’re saying we just turn it back on the way it was and hope your technical prowess will get me what I need?” he asks. There is a tinge of incredulity in his question that masks the boatload of it that he doesn’t voice. It sounds like she might be trying to make herself indispensable to this project, and no matter how good she’s been to him, that’s something he can’t have.

“No!” she protests. His shoulders sag with some relief. “No,” she repeats, and suddenly he finds her tendency to anxiously repeat herself a little endearing again. Her hands are up in a placating gesture that makes him feel nice and in control of the situation.

She might be smarter than he is in the technical aspect, but he only trusts his own brain – his own gut – to find out what House is up to, or not up to, in the face of all the looming threats to this good thing they’ve got going. NCR, Legion, or even just plain hungry tribals wanting their piece. All those things are in need of a _plan_ for _when_ they happen to New Vegas.

Mr. House is silent so much of the time, except when he makes his demands and conditions known and clear.

Benny needs to know what the _plan_ is, if it exists.

And if it doesn’t, he’s about to make damn sure there is one.

It might just be time for a change in management.

Benny draws a deep breath and exhales slowly. His fingers twitch at his sides. After a lifetime of knives being the solution to so many of life’s problems, he has to school himself into placidity. The smile he paints on himself helps.

“Well then, Miss Emily,” he says, “what is it you’re suggesting?”

She tilts her head at him in an effort to match his charm. It works even as he sees right through it. It’s cute, at least.

“I think we can leave everything about his functions and access the same,” she says. Her posture and demeanor straighten up into something much more plainspoken and earnest. “I’ve just taken the time to examine the AI’s programming – his personality, so-to-speak,” she explains gently. He does like that she takes the time to put things into regular-people-speak for him. It saves him time.

“Bunch of grumpy cops,” Benny says under his breath.

“Yes,” Emily allows, “but he doesn’t have to be…”

The way she trails off makes Benny’s mind race to catch up. Too many possibilities present themselves to chase after. He’d rather she bring the right one to him. He waits, looking almost unimpressed.

“... He could be a friendly little guy, er… big guy. Who’s happy to do whatever you say…” she says. Benny doesn’t miss the lewd note to the last phrase. It gives him a thrill, but not for the reasons he knows she’s hoping. He has business to attend to now.

He reaches out and takes her shoulder, subtly guiding her back toward the terminal. He’s eager to know for himself if what she’s saying is possible.

“How far along are you?” he asks.

“Oh, well…” she says, clearing her throat softly. She seems to be trying to recover herself a bit, backtrack. Probably from disappointment that he hadn’t taken note of her advances. He had, and he almost feels a little sorry for her. Still, bigger fish. “That’s what I was working on,” she says with added conviction. She loses it again in her next words: “... before our, uh… room-service-break.”

He thinks her face looks pinker in the green glow that shines against it.

“You’re saying it’s…”

“Ready,” she agrees. “I think.”

“You think,” Benny says with something wavering between humor and horror. His eyes are wider when he leans over to look at her eyes more directly. “Tell me, _exactly_ , what happens if your little plan doesn’t work?”

“I’ve made sure his passive monitoring systems have been wiped and turned off the entire time he’s had a power source, and he hasn’t been on House’s network since… well, the day you _procured_ him, I’m guessing,” she explains. “So if I turn him on and my work turns out to be all-for-nought, then hopefully the worst thing that happens is that he wakes up, sees us, and asks some awkward questions. As long as you don’t say anything incriminating in front of him, he’ll probably roll out of here, confused but not suspecting a thing.”

She glances away from Benny’s eyes, licking her lips a bit in a way he doesn’t think has anything to do with seduction. He thinks he knows the track her mind has gone now.

“Listen, Emily,” he says, using her name like currency. “Nothing criminal ‘bout what you’re helping me do, right? I promise I’ve got nothing but the _best_ intentions for New Vegas. I thought you Followers would agree that Vegas’s safety and future don’t need to be locked up in the old man’s ivory tower.”

“I want to make sure that he’s taking into consideration the well-being of _all_ of New Vegas,” Emily agrees, with conditions. “Not just the Strip.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Benny agrees quickly. He remembers what it’s like out there. He can’t extend the shade over the whole Mojave and has no intention to try. But New Vegas - Freeside and the Strip alike - isn’t going to stop needing doctors and scientists if it’s going to have the illustrious future he hopes for it.

“Do _you_ care?” Emily asks.

“‘Course I do,” Benny asks, returning her vague question with an equally vague answer. “So you’re telling me if you switch him on, I either get everything I’ve asked you for… or nothing. He rolls out of here and I’m back at square one.”

“That’s pretty much the size of it.”

“Winner take all,” Benny mutters to himself. He paces just a little, pressing his fingers into the safety of his coat pockets. He looks up at the Securitron and its deep, black, blank screen that presently shows a smooth reflection of his own face, tallying up the risk and its worth. Then he turns a brave-face smirk back to Emily. “I’ll take those odds.”

He strides back over to Emily as she watches his eyes, tracking for what he wants her to do. He nods toward the terminal.

“You want to do the honors?” he suggests, though unless it’s pressing ‘enter’ or balancing the books for the Tops he knows she pretty much has to.

“If you’re sure you’re ready,” she says. She turns toward the terminal, hands hovering at either side of its keypad to wait for permission.

“Born ready,” Benny agrees with a bit of a wolf in his smile. He comes over to her, trying to sweeten the deal. He leans in behind her until his body is flush against hers – through their clothes this time. He reaches out with gentle hands and touches the backs of hers. His fingertips travel the valleys between the tiny bones that run into her hand and stops when his hands completely overshadow hers. He grips them softly. “Together?” he asks.

He eases up on the grip and lowers his chin to her shoulder. He breathes in and out, the image of a man at ease. Her skin smells like rain and earth, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, agreeing through what seems to be some tension he’s brought back into her body. He straightens his posture but can’t help the self-satisfaction. He keeps true to his word about this part and lets his hands hover over her forearms, just above her wrists, allowing her to move with a shared sense of complicity as she types in the commands to cause their – _his_ – Securitron to wake.

There is a very solid _clack_ as she presses down the _‘enter’_ key one more time and draws her hands away.

Benny lets his hands slide all the way back to the crook of her elbows as he looks up at the Securitron.

For a moment, he believes that nothing is happening. Then he notices a familiar little blinking rectangle of light in the bottom left corner of the Securitron’s face.

A flurry of bright white text scrolls down it afterward. A Securitron’s face _is_ a screen, after all.

Then every pixel on the screen glows with that same white. It’s absolutely stunning, literally.

 _‘A little bit of payback, there, buddy?’_ Benny thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut and prays that they work their way back into focus when he opens them. He finds that his hands have gripped Emily by the inside of her elbows. He has drawn her back away from the terminal, and it’s hard to tell if he’s using her as a shield or trying to protect her. The real answer is probably a little bit of both. He wishes her no ill-will, but it’s all a question of priorities.

“Hey!” the Securitron says in a sudden, bright issuance of sound that matches its outburst of light. Its screen brightness adjusts itself to the gloom of the back room that has served as Benny’s – really, Emily’s – workshop of late. Finally, Benny can see again, save for the couple of green and magenta rings that keep bouncing around his field of vision.

“Hello! Hi… Hi there?” the Securitron continues. At the very end, it sounds just the least bit nervous. After one more blink, Benny makes out a black pattern on the robot’s face. It looks real happy, almost like something they’d have put on a box of something for kids.

Benny disentangles himself from Emily completely and steps out from behind her.

He hears her laugh, and he thinks she sounds almost too happy.

“Look, he’s even got a face!” she says.

“Didn’t _you_ program him?” Benny hisses at her, though he’s not sure whispering works around these things.

“Oh! There you are,” the Securitron says with a surprising amount of emotion. It seems to want to shout everything to the best of its ability. This time, it sounds some combination of thrilled and relieved. “Yes, I have recently been reprogrammed. My personal database tells me that I have been offline for approximately…” It pauses. “... _three weeks?!_ ”

That overriding tone of excitement never goes away, even as the thing sounds like it wishes to be downright horrified.

Benny didn’t think a robot could _be_ horrified. He finds that he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Yeah, had a little bit of an accident there, buddy,” he says, stepping in front of the robot where it seems logical that they would be able to see each other. “I helped you out of a scrape.”

He doesn’t mention that he caused the scrape. Need-to-know.

Besides, it’d be good to know if a potentially lethal police robot – even if it is a repurposed one – harbors any grudge toward him. And, if it doesn’t, he definitely isn’t going to give it a reason to start. Then something occurs to him.

“Did you do anything about his weapons systems?” he asks, looking over at Emily.

“My weapons systems are fully operational!” the robot cries proudly.

Benny’s eyes widen involuntarily. He swallows, hopefully not too noticeably. He hears something whirring. The robot hadn’t sounded angry about the whole scrape-situation, but he doesn’t think the robot _can_ sound angry anymore. He feels his heart thudding harder inside his chest.

“... However,” the Securitron continues, “my locomotive systems seem to be inhibited by some obstacle. Oh, that is very unusual,” he says apologetically.

“Yeah, pal, see… we… uh… put the brakes on you,” Benny explains, keeping his cool. He nods down to the rubber straps and metal hooks which were used to make sure that the Securitron was itself _secure_ in more ways than one while it had been apparently offline. “For your own safety, of course.”

He glances at Emily with a sort of conspiratorial look. Or maybe it’s a cry for help from his partner-in-crime. A crime that’s for the good of everyone, really, and therefore _not_ really that criminal.

“Oh. That’s silly,” the robot announces to Benny’s mild chagrin. “My function is to provide safety and security. There is no need to provide _me_ with the same. It renders my purpose redundant.”

“Oh,” Benny echoes. “Well–”

Finally, Emily steps into the apparent ‘view’ of the robot and chimes in.

“Not to change the subject,” she says, as she proceeds to change the subject, “but what do you remember?” she asks.

She too glances over her shoulder at Benny, giving him a _‘don’t fuck this up,’_ look.

She’ll be getting no arguments on that one. He raises one hand and nods in measured surrender.

“Oh. Well, I…” the Securitron says. There are some beeping sounds that do not emit from the same speakers that emit its synthesized voice. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific! I apologize. I could list every memory in my system, but my calculations suggest that it would take several years. My human-interaction courtesy protocols indicate that this is inappropriate and inefficient. Unless you would like me to override…?”

“No!” Emily says. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she says to him in a soothing tone.

Without asking for Benny’s permission, she leans down and removes one of the cords from around the body of the machine at what one might call its ‘waist.’

“Hey,” Benny starts to complain in a harsh, commanding tone, but he is cut off by the robot starting to move. He realizes that Emily’s insubordination might be the least of his problems and trains his attention on the machine.

It seems to be simply moving right to left, slowly. When it has exhausted most of its range of motion, it centers again without a fuss.

“Ah, that is much better. Thank you! I can now fully monitor this room and the secret passageway behind it!”

“The what?” Emily asks.

“Never mind that,” Benny interrupts. He stands so he and Emily are side by side. He then folds his arms across his chest. “The lady asked what you remember. What do you remember about the day you went offline?”

“Well, I…” There is another pause for the machine to search itself. Without any change to its bright, smiling face, it says: “I was performing my usual security patrols when something stopped me. I don’t remember what.”

“Good enough for me,” Benny says, mostly speaking to Emily. She shushes him, which he thinks is far more suspicious than anything he had said to her.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” the Securitron says, “but my function is to provide safety and security. This room seems to be both safe and secure! However, my locomotive systems still are not fully operational. I’m afraid I cannot continue my patrol protocol until I receive further manual assistance.”

“Well, see. Your function has changed just a little bit,” Benny tries to explain.

“Really?” the robot asks. “I’m sorry,” it says after a brief pause. “I am a PDQ-88b Securitron. My optimal function is to provide safety and security. If you would like a robot for another function, might I allow you to access the most recent issue of the House Industries Catalog or give you the contact information of a RobCo Customer Service Representative?”

Benny sighs with some waning patience as the robot offers to let him talk with ghosts.

“That’s not necessary. You can _do_ whatever you want to do,” he insists. “That is, whatever I want you to do.”

“Yes, I can,” the robot says.

Benny peers into the robot’s big, happy eyes that never blink. That can’t blink. That are just a projection on a screen. It’s downright creepy when he thinks about it. But there are other things he’s thinking about right now. His heart is still racing, but it’s with a different tempo, now.

“Hey, there, Yes-Man,” he says. “Can I call you Yes-Man?”

“Yes, you may call me ‘Yes-Man,’ if you reregister my user interface ID as ‘Yes-Man.’ Would you like to reregister my user interface ID as ‘Yes-Man’?”

“Does your user interface ID register on Mr. House’s data network?” Emily asks bluntly.

Benny winces a little, hoping that robots can’t read much into subtext.

“No, it does not!” Yes-Man replies.

“Then do it,” Benny says with a little bit of a smirk. His hands are resting _easy_ in his pockets now.

“You’re naming him ‘Yes-Man’?” Emily asks skeptically.

“Yes ma’am,” Benny agrees wryly. He watches her with a sidelong expression. He has to decide what to do with her. He’s sizing up how much he still needs. No use burning bridges that aren’t ready to burn. He considers his next question very carefully before looking back up at the robot:

“Will you show me information from Mr. House’s private data network?”

“Yes, I will.”

Benny peers up into the big, creepy eyes. He’s starting to like the look of them more and more.

“How much information?”

“Any information you ask me for!”

“That’s… great,” he says.

“How many Securitrons are currently able to monitor your communications?” Emily asks with a little bit of a strain in her voice.

 _Damn._ Good point.

“None unless I am given instructions to broadcast or send data packets to the other Securitrons on my network. Would you like for me to transmit this conversation to the other Securitrons on my network?”

“No!” Benny says, and he hears Emily say it at the same time and with the same fervent insistence. He breathes out and there is silence for a moment. Then he realizes that there are two opportunities here. He takes a single step toward Yes-Man. “In fact, I don’t want you to _ever_ send any of the information discussed in this room _anywhere_ outside this room without _explicit_ instructions,” he says. He waits to see if this command can be registered.

“Yes, sir. You’re the boss!” Yes-Man says.

“Yeah, I am,” he says. He slacks his expression just a little bit as he turns toward Emily and gives her a sort of pitying smile. He tilts his head at her and reaches out to finger-comb through her messy, soft hair. “Listen, Emi-Gal - who knows if this is gonna work? Next thing you know, I could have an army of Securitrons beating down the door to my casino,” he says.

He takes her by the arm and draws her along after him, out of the workshop.

“You stay put,” he calls, just for the sake of wise redundancy, at Yes-Man. He closes the door behind him.

“But–” Emily protests.

“Listen, I can’t have anything happening to you,” he says, knowing that he’s laying it on thick. He picks up her white coat from where it had fallen over a chair in his bedroom. He hands it to her, pretty carefully given his haste to usher her over toward the bar and the door.

“Benny, I really think we should set up some counter-measures of our own, even if it’s just coaxing him through our expectations. I really don’t know if blind hope that he won’t say something to just anyone who walks through that door is the best–” Emily says, but he holds up a finger and presses it to her lips gently. He taps them, once for luck.

Then he draws his hand back and depresses the button that activates the radio that communicates with his bodyguards.

“Fellas, could a couple of you come up and escort Ms. Ortal out of the Tops? She’s sobered up, and I would really like it if you would see that she gets back to the gate of Freeside safely.”

He lets up on the button and watches the look of disgust twist her pretty features.

“You lying–”

“Hey, now, don’t be like that. We’re still on the same side. There isn’t really a ‘we,’ now, though… when it comes to Yes-Man,” he explains. “Wouldn’t want to confuse him.”

“You bastard,” she spits out.

“Facts is facts,” he says wryly.

“I can just go straight to the Lucky 38 and–”

“Yeah? You and what army are gonna knock down that door?” Benny asks with a chuckle. He reaches out to touch her arm to soothe her. She jerks it away and he lets her go. “Listen,” he says anyway, “I don’t mean you any harm. But you start fighting against the waves and you’re gonna drown. And nice as that sounds in the Mojave, I’m pretty sure it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

He waits to let the warning sink in. Then he tries to offer some consolation:

“Listen, we want the same things for New Vegas. People are always gonna need doctors. I’m gonna make sure that happens. And you… you’re my little machine doctor.”

“I’m not _your_ anything,” Emily says, but he can see her accepting defeat as she tries to throw daggers with her eyes. Luckily, he hasn’t met anyone with that particular skill yet.

A moment later, the door opens from the outside and two of his bodyguards make polite small-talk that is designed to ignore her indiscretion but to demand that she come-with. Make the embarrassment as light as possible. Ease her out of the building in style.

When they’re gone down the hall to the elevator, Benny stops peeking out his door and draws both of them closed. He secures the door behind him not just with the lock his bodyguards also have a key to but with a bar that he keeps for special occasions.

Quietly, he savors the moment. He walks over to his bar and pours himself a shot of some of the best he’s got. He downs it and strolls back toward his bedroom and makes his way back to the workshop once again.

“Hello!” Yes-Man says the moment he opens the door. The poor guy sounds a little lonely. Stir-crazy, maybe, but that part’s not going to get better.

“Yeah, hey,” Benny indulges him. “So, listen,” he says, approaching him with a lowered chin and a look on his face that promises the intimacy of secrets, “there are some things I need to know about Mr. House’s itinerary. You dig?”

“I understand completely!” Yes-Man agrees.

Benny allows himself a broad grin as he straightens up. He extends his hand to shake but then realizes that Securitrons probably couldn’t if they wanted to. Instead he changes course and pats the grooved, round casing that allows the thing to turn the larger part of its body. 

“Yeah?” he asks, rhetorically of course. “Then I’ve got a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


End file.
